


Eulogy

by via_ostiense



Category: Tennis no Oujisama | Prince of Tennis
Genre: Gen, chain_of_fics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-11-25
Updated: 2004-11-25
Packaged: 2017-10-15 17:27:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/163141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/via_ostiense/pseuds/via_ostiense
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Yuuta delivers a eulogy.  chain_of_fics, prompt "He hated never knowing."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Eulogy

"He hated never knowing." Yuuta paused, caught his breath. He'd known this would be hard, but it was much harder than he'd imagined possible. "H-h-he hated," Oh, God, he couldn't do this, he couldn't finish this. Atsushi laid a hand on his shoulder, comforting him, and somehow Yuuta managed to pull himself together enough to continue.

"He hated being wrong, and he pushed us all to be perfect." So true, so true. Morning runs, drills until Yuuta wanted to throw a racket over the net, but as bad as it had been for him, it'd been worth it when he'd finally perfected his Super Rising Counter and he'd seen the smug satisfaction on Mizuki's face.

"He wanted to be perfect, too, and he never quite made it, just like we never made it," and that had rankled Mizuki to the point where he'd thrown temper tantrums worthy of a diva, "but he never stopped trying. He never forgot or forgave himself for his mistakes." Atsushi's red ribbon was proof of that, whipping in the wind as if saluting the somewhat eccentric manager who had cut and tied it. "But he forgave us when we fell short."

A tear trickled down his face, followed by another, and another, and another in quick succession, until there was a steady flow running down his cheeks to plop on his black blazer. "He passed away too young, and he will be greatly missed, and," and Yuuta lost it, crumpling and screaming, "and Goddamnit, he shouldn't have been taken from us!" Atsushi grabbed him tightly and held him, and Yuuta buried his sobs in his teammate's warm shoulder.

The last eulogy finished, Mizuki-san was opening the cherrywood box and casting its contents to the wind, dispersing the final remains of Mizuki Hajime all over the hills around St. Rudolph. Yuuta forced himself to watch, still clinging to Atsushi for strength, but the stream of fine dust being whipped away was more than he could bear. Some of that dust was black hair, he thought, and some of it was pale, milky skin, and some of it was lips that had smirked and smiled, and some of it was long, callused fingers. Little bits of Mizuki-san, but none of his humour, his temper, his silky purr, or his love for purple. He was gone, and there would be no more morning jogs or nighttime weightlifting or blinding pajamas or badly tied ties, because he was gone.

Yuuta fell to his knees, gripping the grass as if he would rip it up and gather together all the scattered remnants of Mizuki-san and piece them all together. Atsushi tried to pull him away, but he ignored him and the rest of the mourners until the sun went down and he was alone, dripping tears into the dust and mourning.


End file.
